by Yvonne Heidt
*
In her mind’s eye, Sunny saw the female spirit shimmer. Loose curls appeared and framed a young, heart-shaped face. “Hello,” she said. “What’s your name?”
I’m lost.
“Who are you?” Sunny glanced at Shade who shook her head. She still wasn’t picking up anything. “How did you die?” Sunny opened herself a little more in an attempt to hear her better. The spirit stood still, obviously crying, but mute. “I can’t help you if you don’t communicate with me.”
The letter F flashed, then an R, A, and N, consecutively.
“Francine?”
A soft sigh was audible and Sunny took it for assent. “Did you die here, Francine?”
I’m lost.
Sunny closed her eyes to better read the image. In the process, she dropped another piece of concentration that held her protective shield, and Francine began to show her the last few minutes of her life.
In a semi-trance, Sunny dictated what she saw for the recorder. “It’s hot, so damn hot. She’s showing me one of those summer Seattle days that no one is ever prepared for. The windows are open, and she’s standing in front of them, fanning herself. She’s waiting, but it doesn’t feel like any kind of happy anticipation. It feels more like dread.”
Sunny held a hand to her heart. “She’s lost someone important. Heartache, loss. She feels dirty. I guess that’s the best way to describe it. Wait. Someone’s knocking on the door. Now she feels like she wants to throw up.” Sunny’s stomach cramped and she forced herself to swallow the saliva that flooded the back of her throat.
“Sunny, pull back,” Shade said and grabbed her arm tightly.
Though she heard her voice, Sunny was too deep in Francine’s memory to respond, and she felt herself go deeper before the rest of the explanation came. The woman had lost her husband in a logging accident and, being unable to support herself, she moved to the city where, desperate to survive, she’d had to resort to prostitution.
Sunny watched as Francine walked to the door, twitching when the pounding started on the wood. She turned the knob, opened it, and looked into the dead eyes of her killer.
The man smelled foul with whiskey and unwashed body sweat, and she felt the bile rise again. There was no small talk; he just pushed his way in and grabbed her before kicking the door shut behind him.
*
Jordan, you filthy girl. You wet the bed again. Get up! Christ, it stinks in here.
“Mama, I tried to get up and go, but the door was locked and then the bad man came in.”
Quit your lying, you little bitch. I swear I don’t know why I had you. You’re a liar and nothing but a pain in my ass. All you do is whine and leave me messes to clean up.
Jordan tried to make herself smaller, wishing she could disappear in the face of her mother’s tirade.
Answer me!
The slap rocked her head back into the wall and thrust Jordan back to the present. She couldn’t tell if the burning on her cheek was from the memory or from the punch she’d taken earlier. She waited until she felt steady enough to stand.
Should she find out what the loud banging was behind the boiler room door or go back upstairs? She knew she was being a coward, but she tried again to convince herself it was some punk-ass kid who slipped by security. She needed it to be something she could fight, something afraid of the power of guns and the law.
But she really didn’t believe it. The old, familiar explanations weren’t working, and they sounded hollow even to her jaded mind. She held still, shaken and unsure what step she should take next. There was safety in numbers, right? Trusting others was something she’d made sure she never needed to do, and she’d always been able to take care of herself. But now, in a dark, smelly basement where guns and logic both failed her, she realized she might not have a choice.
If she took that first step back down the hallway, it was just as good as admitting defeat. But, her heart argued, if she took that route, it led to the one thing she cared about now. It would take her back to Sunny.
Which way? Further into the bowels of the basement, or into the light where Sunny was? Jordan took a deep breath and ran.
*
Sunny backed up in the room until her knees hit the bed and she fell onto it, her petticoats tangled around her legs and the man’s rotten breath blowing in her face.
Wait. Not me. Francine. This happened to Francine.
A dirty hand closed on her breast, twisting it painfully until Sunny gasped. She heard material ripping and her heart skipped a beat. “No! Stop it, Francine. Show me. Don’t make me relive it, please!”
The heavy weight lifted from her body, and Shade pulled her into a sitting position, holding on to her to share the connection. “Me, Francine. Show me,” Shade said.
Sunny tried to speak past the lump of horror in her throat, but gave up. The bed lowered next to her where Tiffany sat to lay hands on her. She felt Francine’s spirit turn her attention to Shade and she breathed deeply, letting the connection go.
“Whoa.” Tiffany leaned into her and Sunny pulled the healing energy closer until she felt some of the tension in her body ease. “She’s strong.”
“It’s him,” Shade said. “He’s the dominant force in here.” Shade took her hands off Sunny’s back, and she knew it was because Shade had connected with the murderer himself and didn’t want to share the menacing energy with her and Tiffany. Shade moved away from them.
Sunny always worried when Shade took on the negative aspects of a haunting. She knew that it cost her, but she always went into the dark willingly and managed to walk out the other side.
The details Shade shared were usually generalized and watered down. It used to make her mad, but over the years, she’d realized it wasn’t because Shade didn’t think she could handle it; it was that Sunny internalized the emotions and it took her days to recover, even with her mother’s and Tiffany’s healing. Shade buffered the evil so it couldn’t scar Sunny’s light spirit.
Shade’s grimace was clear on the night vision camera. “What’s happening?” Sunny asked.
“He’s raping her. He’s convinced himself she’s loving it and enjoying it thoroughly. Fucking prick.” Shade paused, then suddenly she began to laugh, and chills danced on Sunny’s spine.
Tiffany’s hand tightened around Sunny’s. “Maybe we should—”
“No, I’m good.” Shade held up a hand to stop their advance. “She has a knife.”
Sunny perceived a brief flash of metal.
“I can see it now,” said Tiffany. “There’s blood on the floor. I think I’m standing in it.”
Sunny’s pulse sped up. Francine’s terror bubbled in the room along with the desperation she felt over the horrific circumstance.
She was prepared this time and mentally slammed the gate around her mind, instantly shutting the feelings off before they affected her own.
“I can see them on the bed,” Tiffany said. “Oh, how horrible!”
“She cut his throat before he snapped her neck,” Shade said evenly. “Enough. We know what happened.” She stood and cracked her knuckles.
“There’s blood everywhere,” Tiffany said. She started to tremble slightly.
“Okay, Tiff. Let’s go. Time for a break.” Sunny pulled her toward the door. “We’ll come back, Francine. I promise.”
Shade picked up the equipment before leaving the room, and Sunny shut the door behind them. “That was exhausting. Poor Francine.” She didn’t spare a thought for the man who was killed; in fact, she felt a small thrill that he got what he deserved.
The sound of running boots on the floor below them caught the breath in her throat. They turned in unison to the stairs. “Everyone hears that, right?”
A beam of light made crazy patterns on the walls, dancing as it came closer.
“Sunny?”
“Jordan.” Sunny shoved her camera to Tiffany, and hurried toward the sound of Jordan’s frantic voice. “Here. I’m coming.”
Befor
e she got to the head of the stairs, Jordan reached her and dropped onto a stair, out of breath. Sunny sat next to her. Shade and Tiffany sat behind them.
“Are you okay? Look at me, Jordan.” Sunny was glad to see that her eyes were clear and focused. She also realized that it was the first time Jordan had run to her. Jordan nodded, and Sunny was glad to see some of the tension leave her shoulders.
“Let’s fill in our notes and take that break.”
Together, they returned to the lobby. Sunny handed out bottles of water, and they all plopped into seats in front of various pieces of technology.
Sunny looked over at Jordan and Shade huddled in front of the equipment with their heads bent over the keyboards. Apparently, they’d reached an uneasy truce after Jordan offered Shade a lukewarm apology.
Tiffany rested in a chair with her eyes closed. Sunny didn’t want to interrupt her because she knew she was meditating after the gruesome scene she’d witnessed in that room. The owners hadn’t mentioned anything about a double murder in the hotel, so she doubted they even knew about it. In the early nineteenth century, it would have been easy to sweep something like that under the rug. All you needed was money to grease the right palms and you could make anything go away.
She was just about to join Jordan when something darted across the room just outside the circle of light that the lamp provided.
Sunny stood and took a few steps toward the direction the shadow disappeared. “Hello,” she called before clicking her recorder on. “Where did you go?”
“See something?” Shade asked, looking up from the desk.
“Shadow at two o’clock. Mark the time, please.” Sunny was all business again but startled when Jordan touched her elbow. She hadn’t heard her approach, but welcomed the body heat that warmed her back.
“Who are you?” Tiffany stood then crossed to the old wooden banister to place her hand on it. “Oh, I see a party.” She smiled. “One of those grand ones, you know? Where the women all wear frilly dresses and the men are in suits with tails. There’s dancing, waiters are passing out finger food and fancy glasses of champagne.”
“How does she do that? I can’t see or hear anything,” Jordan whispered so as not to distract Tiffany.
No automatic denial, thought Sunny. No disbelief pouring out of Jordan. She was asking questions, not shutting down. The realization made her happy and she kissed her quickly.
“What was that for?”
“For believing.” For running to me.
“Working here,” Shade said. “That’s on tape.”
“Sorry.” Sunny reluctantly stepped away and smiled at Jordan before focusing on the room again. Even after her terrifying experience in the basement, Jordan found herself becoming fascinated with the investigation process. She had dozens of questions but didn’t know which one to ask first.
“If you’re going to follow Sunny around for the rest of the night, make yourself useful,” Shade said.
Jordan crossed to the desk and took the camera in Shade’s hand.
“Thanks, Lacey.” Jordan smirked, and then turned her back when Shade hissed at her. That felt good. She felt like a part of the team. After taking a few minutes to familiarize herself with the equipment, Jordan focused the lens on Sunny, who was standing next to Tiffany and speaking into the recorder.
“Elderly man in a black top hat, showing me a name. Gerald? Jerry? No, Gerald. Yes? Thank you. He says it’s his hotel and he’s showing me a clock with the hands spinning round and round.” She looked at Jordan. “That’s my sign for the passing of a long time. Now I see a lot of people going in and out the front door with boxes and crates.”
“Several owners?” asked Jordan.
“Yes, exactly that. Very good.”
Jordan was ridiculously pleased with Sunny’s approving tone.
“The ball is over,” Tiffany said. “He’s sitting alone on the stairs with his face in his hands.”
Sunny picked up where Tiffany left off. “Gerald is tired, so very tired of watching his beloved hotel go to rot.”
“But they’re restoring it,” Jordan said. She tried not to cringe at how inane it seemed for her to try to reassure a ghost.
“There are men with tools running out the door.”
“You can see all that just by touching the wood?”
“Tiffany can see the past and pick up the energy left behind in the environment,” Sunny explained. “Everyone leaves an imprint, a physical trace of where they’ve been, and what they’ve experienced. The intensity of the emotions they felt during the situation is what determines how powerful the energy is that remains after they’re gone. That’s why Tiffany felt the party first. The larger the crowd, the stronger the imprint is in the area.”
That made sense. Now that she thought about it, Jordan could recall many times she’d been to a crime scene, and before she’d even seen what carnage had been left behind, or smelled the blood, the location felt different. She had always thought it was experience, a cop’s intuition.
A breeze lifted her hair a second before Sunny announced that Gerald had disappeared. Tiffany drew her hand back and swore.
“What?” Jordan asked.
“Do you feel how cold it’s getting?”
Her chest felt a little heavy, and Jordan was finding it difficult to catch her breath. Was it her imagination or did it get darker in the room? No, that’s stupid, she told herself. It was already dark. A loud screech rent the air. It appeared to be coming from nowhere, but echoing everywhere. She was instantly on the balls of her feet, ready. Ready for what, Jordan wasn’t sure, but she pulled Sunny behind her anyway. “Please tell me you heard that.”
“We heard it.”
“Thank God. Where is it coming from?”
“Basement.” Shade pushed away from the desk and headed for the door.
“Shit.” Jordan’s fledgling sense of fun and adventure flew right out the window. She had to grudgingly admit she admired the hell out of Shade’s bravery.
Sunny followed Shade, keeping ahead of Jordan even as she continually tried to walk in front of her. “Stop that!”
“Can’t help it. Habit, sorry.” My job.
Shade stopped suddenly and Jordan ran into her.
“Not your job here, cop. Not to piss you off or anything, but it’s ours.”
“It’s really creepy, Lacey, how you read my mind.”
“Don’t call me that,” Shade said between clenched teeth.
“Quit it, you two,” Tiffany said. “You can have your pissing contest later. I just want to finish the job and go home, okay?”
Since Shade again took the lead, Jordan dropped to the rear and followed the group. “Eww,” Sunny said. “This stench wasn’t here earlier. Mark that.”
“What do you mean, mark that?” Jordan asked.
“For the report. When we listen to playback, we’ll add it to our findings for the owners.”
They reached the bottom of the staircase, and Jordan wondered what they were waiting for. Her muscles tensed with anticipation and adrenaline began pumping faster through her bloodstream until she thought she might scream.
Help!
“Disembodied voice heard,” Sunny said into the recorder. “Did you hear it?”
“Are you fucking kidding me? Of course I heard it.” Jordan heard it loud and clear but stood frozen in place. Two weeks ago, she wouldn’t have believed any of this or would have had rational explanations handy for it if she had. How the hell was she supposed to switch gears so quickly? Her stomach churned with the effort.
The women fanned in front of her, holding out various pieces of equipment and walking toward the voice. Jordan sure as hell didn’t want to be left behind. She forced her feet to move. She hated feeling scared and uncertain. It pissed her off and made her cranky. “Can’t we turn on the goddamn lights?”
Tiffany laughed. “I’m all for it. I hate the basements. We always do investigations in the dark. It’s usually when places are more paranormall
y active.”
Jordan tried to get used to looking through the viewfinder of the camera to see where she was going.
“Nasty man ahead.” Shade stopped.
“Where? I don’t see anyone.”
“You should be thankful. Half his head is blown away.”
Jordan swept the hall with the camera.
“Sunny, don’t even talk to him. He’s just a distraction; a sideshow to keep us from going in there. And, Tiffany? Don’t touch anything yet.”
“Does anyone else hear growling?”
“Ignore it. Scare tactics. Here. Put your camera down for a second.”
Jordan dropped her arm and stared into the dark. Ignore it? How did one ignore a rabid ghost? Was there some sort of trick to it she needed to learn? Shade rustled in her backpack and Jordan yelped when something sprayed in her face. She swung her fist, hitting only air when Shade jumped back.
“It’s just holy water.” Shade laughed.
“Again with the water in the face. What’s wrong with you?”
“Shade,” Sunny said. “You could have warned her.”
“I thought you guys weren’t religious.”
Sunny kept a gentle but restraining arm around her waist. “We’re not. But chances are”—she pointed down the hallway—“they are. It doesn’t matter what we believe. When we’re dealing with spirits, it matters what they believe will hurt them that’s important.”
Jordan’s head was swimming and water dripped from her face into her collar. “What if they don’t believe?”
“Then we have a problem.” Shade sprayed Sunny and Tiffany. “Ready?”
“No,” Jordan muttered but continued her pace at the rear of the line.
They entered the dark area and stopped. Sunny turned on her flashlight, shining it into corners and along the beams. Aside from broken drywall and a few stray boards, it was empty. A hallway lined with doors led to the right off the main room.
“This must have been the sitting room,” Tiffany said. “There’s a couple of those big stuffed chairs and a table over there.” She pointed to an empty corner. “There’s a large desk here. It’s very dreary, actually.”
